


Some Suns Leave Burns

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (hell yeah) - Freeform, (not so yay), (yay), Alternate Universe - Psych Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crush at First Sight, Detective Shiro, Fake Psychic Lance, Hot Shiro tbh, M/M, Pineapples, Pining, Time Skips, implied detective allura, its not explicitly described though, some onscreen blood and gunshot wounds, unfortunate love confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 16:48:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8409190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: If there's one thing that Lance could trust, it was the weather. In Santa Barbra, they didn't get a lot of rainy days most of the year, so it made each one just that much sweeter. After all, he met Shiro on a rainy day and really, that could make up for anything that warm, sweaty weather wanted to send his way.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Achrya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY ACHARYA :D :D
> 
> so?? remember when I mentioned this au like, twice? and we talked about it? well look at this!! this has been a kind of "in the works" for a little while, since I wanted to get it done for your bday man. 
> 
> that being said. this is a two-part? there will be an upcoming piece one day. not as a second chapter, but as it's own thing. this is 100% complete on its own right now, but there is one day going to be another one that goes more in depth with different scenes and such. I mean? there are too many good scenes and here I have only a handful (which scenes listed at the bottom).
> 
> so every fandom needs at least two certain aus. and one of those is of course, a psych au. i'll work on the other one.
> 
> [music!](https://listenonrepeat.com/?v=nBgmC_USeoM#Harvey_Danger-_Flagpole_sitta)! i wrote to this the whole time and it only took like 120 replays, amazing.

                It’s raining the day he calls the tip in. This much is proven by the way the ends of his hair curls like it does when he gets out of the shower, how the girl he’s pressing into the back of the couch’s shirt is damp, spotted with drops of water, and how the top of her head smells distinctly like _wet_ and outside.

 

                But wow. It doesn’t rain too often around here during this time of year and – he just has to see how long that’s going to last. Is it going to rain tomorrow?

 

                (Plans. Maybe he has plans.)

 

                Her lips on his neck should be distracting, but he barely registers them as he flips on the TV, about to hit the channel for weather when something catches his eye. Before he turned off the TV when he watched it last, he must have been on the news, because that’s what it’s left on now, where they’re discussing some kind of robbery. The guy they’re interviewing keeps twisting his hands, eyes darting around the room, and his voice quivers while he rambles on.

 

                He doesn’t even think twice as he reaches for his phone and mumbles a _one second_ to the girl who’s pulling her shirt off. She pouts, but that quickly turns into a smirk when she notices just how quick he tries to get off the phone as she drifts her hand up her own skirt.

 

                He closes a case, he’s probably going to get paid for it, and he gets laid. Rainy days are _great_.

 

* * *

 

 

                There are clouds in the sky, not light, but not dark, the day he meets him. It’s not going to rain by any stretch, but it’s not really nice enough outside – even if it isn’t really chilly – that he wants to sit out on the diner’s front patio as he eats. In fact, the longer he looks up at the sky, the more he appreciates his seat just inside.

 

                It’s at the bar, easy access to seeing just about everything while getting the food even sooner. He can look out the windows, watch as food gets cooked, or even turn to see each new customer without appearing paranoid. Really, it’s a nice, set up spot. His uncle and older sister would be proud.

 

                Slipping in through the door, he licks his lips, trying not to drool over the thought of what he’s going to order (though he already knows he wants the hash browns at the very least – the aroma he could smell from his seat just minutes ago was something to _die_ for). He tucks the newspaper he just went out for under his arm and steps, reaching for one of his sliced pineapple pieces, about to slip into his seat…

 

                … Only to find it taken.

 

                (Taken, perhaps, just like his heart when he pauses to give this guy a once over. Maybe a twice over. He doesn’t really count the number of times his eyes run up and down this seat thief.)

 

                Atop the stool he unrightfully stole, sits a man just a couple (few) inches taller than Lance himself. Both elbows up on the table to hold the menu – something Lance is so, _so_ thankful for, because those arms, those _biceps_ , they could pick him up and sling him over one of those broad (oh, oh _god_ ) shoulders any day – he seems to be the epitome of what anyone would think of as relaxed. But his eyebrows (thick and expressive and Lance wants to _trace_ them what the _hell_ ), not getting the memo about how they’re supposed to be acting, are furrowed, as if in thought, or stressed in some way, or as if this guy is simply _faking it_.

 

                Which, well, understandable, because Lance kind of _is_ just staring at the dude. He decides to give the guy a break and slides into the seat next to him, which earns him a single raised eyebrow, the other one a lot more neutral than before. His eyes are soft, too, lacking any real tension, and _boy_ did Lance not realize how much of thing he had for brown eyes.

 

                (Especially eyes like _these_ , so dark that when he turned to glance over, the sun hits them and the color reflects, erupts into something closer to a shade of _grey_.)

 

                “Excuse me?” Even his _voice_ is kind and gentle and Lance is sure that he’s either have a crisis (and it’s clearly showing on his face) or this guy is an honest-to-god Angel.

 

                And Angels deserve the best, don’t they? They deserve paid-for coffees and nice, mindless morning chatter, and definitely not the pickup line that rests of the tip of Lance’s tongue, his go to resource when he meets someone attractive enough to make him still. So, instead he smiles, brushes that off, and goes with his most polite greeting he can use without sounding like he’s flirting. “Sorry. For the – the staring. I was kind of curious as to what you were doing in my seat is all. You’d think it’s common curtesy to at least offer up a name in return.”

 

                Shit. That was… not close at all to what he was hoping to come out of his mouth. At least… At least he didn’t call the guy an Angel – to his face.

 

                (Yet, anyway.)

 

* * *

 

 

                The sky is clear and the weather is warm the day Hunk spontaneously desires to check out the new restaurant just down the boardwalk. Lance knows this because he’s the poor bastard who has to sit out under the blue and white striped umbrellas that shade the tables beneath them.

 

Hunk has always liked warm weather. It’s part of the reason he’s stayed in California all these years, only moving to different apartments around the city, unlike Lance who skipped town the second he could, like most of the rest of his family. While Hunk had his own to stay for, his parents to always go to Christmas with, the only thing greeting Lance would be a gruff ex-cop of an uncle – who still has yet to not hate him for talking his cousin into jumping the country to follow her dreams instead of being shipped off to college somewhere expensive and boring – seeing as how even his parents are out of town.

 

                He thinks they’re in Florida right now, wrestling gators or something like that. He’d have to ask one of his siblings, all of them closer to his parents (both in location and relation) than he’ll ever be.

 

                When the waitress turns to him, pen grazing the notepad as she waits for his order to write down, pose expectant but carefree, he can’t help but lean back into his chair, a familiar smirk beginning to grace his lips as he asks what she’d suggest, even as he notices that her eyes aren’t the ones he’s looking for. They aren’t dark and deep enough to swallow him in, but instead bright and green and glowing in the sunlight rather than reflecting.

 

                As she raises her eyebrows and gives some prepared response about their burgers, Hunk rolls his eyes, clear in his displeasure with Lance’s flirting. But shouldn’t he be the one to know? Lance doesn’t get lucky on sunny days.

 

                In fact, just on this sunny day, flirting with this girl doesn’t get her a new number in her phone, but _kidnapped_.

 

                The sun is high in the sky the day that Lance almost gets his waitress killed. Hours later, when it’s starting to get dark but the cement is still warm, he has to save his cousin (who is apparently back?) from a bomb hidden in her popcorn.

 

                The sky is happy, clear, the day Lance meets someone who calls herself _Mr. Yang_.

 

* * *

 

 

                It happens to be an obnoxiously bright afternoon the day Lance tells Shiro he loves him. Normally, he would be all for celebrating (Hunk too, because this is a thing that’s been running for a good four years and they’re both heavily invested now), but it’s not a happy experience. In fact, it’s closer to a _painful_ experience, just like the one that happened only hours before that.

 

                The sun is shining and birds are chirping and everything is so idyllic the day Lance gets shot.

 

                He knows this because not only did he get shot, but he also got duct taped and thrown in the back of some criminal’s car, only to be chased through a thick forest of trees on the side of some back road when he kicked himself out of the truck. Bleeding. The whole way through.

 

                Thank god for paranoid uncles, though. He made sure every single member of their family knew just how to get out in case something happened.

 

                (Only Lance. Only he would find a way to put Uncle’s lessons to use.)

 

                He falls asleep buried in a little catch hidden in one of the trees, blood loss and falling adrenaline kicking in, and is out before he can even check to make sure he’s really that camouflaged. When he wakes up, the sun is still pouring through the leaves, telling him that he didn’t sleep for that long, and he uses that as a reason to get the hell out and on his way to a hospital.

 

                It’s a goddamn miracle that the second he clears the tree line he spots a gas station – though, not for him, of course.

 

                Of course.

 

                (He should have known. Run down place as it was, barely one pump, probably just for show. Those weird windchimes made entirely out of wrenches and string. The fact that there was only one car there at all, parked almost up against the door – the one that was _locked_.)

 

                So, when he gets pulled in by the partner of the man who shot him – he should have known, they always have a partner – taped up again and this time to a chair, he’s lucky he even gets to make a call at all. He plays the dying boyfriend card, that he’s got a lover back home, that he just wants to hear her voice one more time. And _her_ because this man just assumes, and there’s awkward bible verses strew around all over the place, as if trying to make up for all the shit they’ve pulled in the name of cash.

 

                And he looks like one of those kinds of guys. Lance doesn’t correct him. He knows this is his only way out.

 

                He knows this, and his first thought isn’t to call a woman. It isn’t even to call his uncle, who would know what hints he needs to throw into his words like breadcrumbs. It isn’t even Hunk, who’s probably worried sick and doing his best right now. It isn’t based on a chance of survival as it is _just to hear that voice again_.

 

                He calls Shiro.

 

                He says his goodbye, he mentions something about windchimes, _hoping_ that he’ll know what that means or that he’ll mention them to someone who will, and he closes his eyes, just trying to memorize the soft, concerned hum that plays through the speaker of his phone. If there’s anything he wants to be the last thing he hears before he dies, it’s that.

 

                The man with the gun flicks his gaze to the window and stiffens. It’s now or never, Lance knows, but he still chokes on his _I love you_. He probably wouldn’t have said it at all if he wasn’t urged to (even though his hands are shaking and he’s glad he’s got it out), and the words almost leave him, his mouth too dry and his throat trying to swallow on nothing.

 

                But they come back quick enough when he hears the quiet, hesitant, _I… I think I-_ , because even though he wants to hear it back, he _desperately_ does, he doesn’t want to hear it now. He wants to hear it when no one is dying, he wants to hear it when he’s laying next to Shiro at the dead of night, he wants to hear it _anywhere_ but this cold, blood covered cement floor with a phone pressed harshly against his ear.

 

                So, his throat opens up, his words come back, and they say, “Goodbye, _Allura_ ,” and it’s enough. It shuts Shiro’s response down and it hurts, but not as much as the thought of what it would be like if he _did_ hear those three words all the way out of Shiro’s mouth.

 

                He thinks Shiro knows, even still, though. But that’s okay, because he knows now too, and knowing is enough to give him the extra motivation to keep himself alive long enough, just so he can hear those words somewhere, sometime else.

 

* * *

 

 

                Today, there are dark, heavy clouds in the sky, and maybe that’s why he does it. They’re not even in California – they’re not even in the United States, but he still feels comfortable and at home and he knows that’s got at least something to do with it, in the very least.

 

                When he saw the sky this morning, he didn’t know what would be coming for him, but he knew it would be good. He didn’t know he’d get _this_. If anything, he wasn’t even expecting to accomplish catching that guy who still reminds him too much of Westley from the Princess Bride and says those things that put Lance’s gibberish to shame. If anything at all, he thought he’d get a step farther, a clue, or even just find the Canadian version of a penny on the ground.

 

                If he had known…

 

                Well, he wouldn’t have done anything to change it. As it is, he’s caught the bad guy (who’s not really a _bad guy_ , despite the theft and life risking and such else), everybody’s flying back soon, and Hunk really isn’t that mad that their vacation was a fluke to do unpaid undercover work. And then there’s _this_.

 

                This moment, where he’s standing on the dock next to Shiro, their elbows brushing together, as he thinks of something to say. Shiro is obviously waiting, knowing him too well to know that he doesn’t have to be the one to say something first, and seems to be enjoying the view of the lake.

 

                When he does work up the courage to speak, they go back and forth with a subdued kind of banter, the problem they’re dancing around obviously muting their conversation. Still, as nervous as Lance is with finally bringing it to light, it takes Shiro looking out into the water, voice controlled, but faint as he murmurs, “Funny. It’s always funny with you,” before he _gets_ it. Before he gets _on_ with it.

 

                So, he shoots a look at the sky, still dark, still cloudy, still his lucky sign, and he steps closer, moving so close he’s almost brushing against Shiro’s body when he turns to meet him. He braces himself on the railing, but he does his damnedest to keep his eyes on Shiro’s face, even if it’s constantly flitting around, from his eyes to his strong jawline, to his mouth. Shiro, bright and intelligent and such a leader Shiro, knows. He knows and his face just kind of… smooths out. His eyebrows relax, lips less pressed and more pliant, eyes focused, searching, but not anxious. With every word he gets out, with every slight twitch to the side of Shiro’s mouth when his meaning is starting to make its way into his confession, he inches even further into him still, and Shiro lets him.

 

                Shiro even lets him reach from the tips of his toes to press them together before he finally moves his hands, his big, gentle hands, to cup around Lance’s jaw and cheeks. His thumbs run over his cheekbones, into the dips below them, along the underside of his jaw, ever so soft and slow. Though, this time it isn’t hesitant, but something different, more intimate. It’s more obvious, more confident. It’s as if he’s learning, like he wants to feel every bit of Lance’s skin, and Lance will _let_ him.

 

                Then, well, Lance doesn’t have to open his eyes and see the sky to feel the rain that hits his nose, seconds after their lips meet. He just smiles a little larger and locks his fingers behind Shiro’s neck to pull him even harder against his mouth.

 

                Yeah, he might love rainy days and what they do for him, but this? Lance loves this just a little more.

**Author's Note:**

> yes, I know [Westley has the same actor as Despereaux](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cary_Elwes)
> 
> [my voltron (primarily shance) tumblr](http://cryingovershance.tumblr.com/) | [acharya's tumblr (writing, mostly voltron)](http://achryathesecond.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> [a link to where you can like/reblog the fic](http://cryingovershance.tumblr.com/post/152455428934/happy-birthday-my-wonderful-friend)
> 
>  
> 
> Episodes in order as the scenes:  
> S01E01 Pilot  
> S01E02 Spellingg Bee  
> S03E16 An Evening with Mr. Yang  
> S04E09 Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark  
> S05E10 Extradition II: The Actual Extradition Part


End file.
